Until I moved to a cold climate, I had just never been all that into Valentine’s Day. Don’t get me wrong: I can wax poetic about love and heartbreak with the best of ‘em–but a holiday that leaves just as many people feeling lonely and sad as loved and appreciated? I just can’t go for that.
But then I came to Maine. And for those of you who live, or have lived in the frozen Northeast, know that February is a cruel, cold, heartless month. It’s windy and icy and a wee bit lonely–as by this time, the snow has lost it’s charm, and most folks are pretty sick of digging out to socialize face to face.
But then comes Valentine’s Day–a day that, at least in these parts, not so much celebrates romantic love, but warmth–literal and metaphorical.
Last Tuesday, after a blizzardy game night at the cafe, Louise, Mary Darling, Bernice McCall and I watched as the rest of the crew worked to get island newcomer Lorraine’s truck out of the snow bank it was stuck in. We were sipping the dregs of our tea, chatting about the state of my kitchen which was in the throes of Valentine’s Day production.
“I have to tell you something,” Mary said in her upbeat, conversational way. ”My Hank died on Valentine’s Day, and it’s ruined it for me ever since.” And though she says this with a wistful smile, it’s hard to believe that much could ruin this powerful woman’s positive attitude, immense sense of humor and her no-nonsense dealings with the world and it’s hardships–whether it’s raising 9 kids, or having frozen pipes in January, or coping with a loving husband’s momentary lapse in consideration when he dies on Valentine’s Day.
But love is like that. As much as it has the power to heal and heat; it also has the power to tear our hearts apart.
Meanwhile, Amy has tied Lorraine’s truck to the rear bumper of her burly Jeep, and, with the help of islanders ranging in age from 11 to 60 pushing in the blizzard, pulls it from the snow bank.
It’s all a rush after that–people shuffling around the cars, trying to get out of the driveway before they get stuck again, punctuated with hurried goodbyes. And later, as I was washing up the last of the teacups, I was struck again by this tiny population bringing their collective warmth to my home–and to each other. Making an effort to be in the physical presence of eachother–whether it’s Tuesday night game nights, Wednesday library hours, Thursday night Knitting Society, monthly book club, or just getting together for a warm meal with neighbors. In an era of email and Facebook, iChat and countless forms of remote communication, I think it’s quite an accomplishment that our little community has the energy and desire to be together.
So Happy Valentine’s Day–and whether you’re in love, or single, or widowed or divorced, I wish for you the warmth of human contact today.
